In Bed I Muse On Tenier'S Boors, Embrowned And Beery Losels All; A Wakeful Brain Elaborates Pain: Within Low Doors The Slugs Of Boors Laze And Yawn And Doze Again. In Dreams They Doze, The Drowsy Boors, Their Hazy Hovel Warm And Small: Thought'S Ampler Bound But Chill Is Found: Within Low Doors The Basking Boors Snugly Hug The Ember-Mound. Sleepless, I See The Slumberous Boors Their Blurred Eyes Blink, Their Eyelids Fall: Thought'S Eager Sight Aches--Overbright! Within Low Doors The Boozy Boors Cat-Naps Take In Pipe-Bowl Light.